


The Warden?  Yeah I Knew Them

by Brosca-Pride (Fan_by_Proxy)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Continuing Collection, Fifteen Minute Fic, Gen, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Brosca-Pride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots featuring Sebastian Vael getting to fanboy about the (various) Warden(s) with the people that knew them best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alma Tabris, Rogue Hero of Ferelden (presidentwarden)

     The knife slips, ruining the fletch; it is of no importance as Sebastian sputters excitedly. “You-you-you-you _knew_ the Hero of Ferelden? Actually _knew_ her?” His eyes are wide, lit up and suddenly overwhelmingly boyish.

     Anders gives a half-hearted shrug. “She recruited me herself, at Amaranthine. Well, she recruited _us_ at Amaranthine.” He corrects quickly.

     Sebastian ignores the acknowledgement of the spirit within the healer; his thoughts on it (corruptive, burdensome) would only derail the conversation. “What was she like? I mean did you know her well?” He can hardly contain his excitement.

     “Short.” Anders focuses on the cup between his hands. It is most likely empty, save for a few dregs of brown water. Justice does not like imbibing, does not in fact allow it. Not that The Hanged Man could even carry enough liquor to put both mage and spirit to sleep. “And short-tempered, not that she shows it. But she does keep a very close set of friends who are happy to set your trousers ablaze.” He watches the drops still inside the cup slide around.

     “That’s—really?” The answer surprises Sebastian. Is this how people talk of heroes they actually know? Or was this the spirit usurping affection? It did that a lot, he’d noticed.

     “Oh yes. Plays at diplomacy, but it’s all about what serves her best in the moment.” Anders lets the cup go. “Watch my seat.” He says, even though he’s not sure he’ll return from the privy.

     “Oh…of course.” Sebastian cannot help but feel disappointed.

     “He’s not the only one who met the Hero.” A warm voice in his ear, and hands on his shoulder and near his money pouch.

     “If you _want_ another drink Isabella, you’ve only to ask.” He cannot help but smile at her antics; she could have palmed his money without announcement. But they are something like friends, so she does not.

     Isabella takes the empty seat. “You sweet talker _you_.” She tosses her head, proud as a wild mare. “I met the Hero of Ferelden. Before she was _actually_ the hero. He’s right that she was short, but other than that.” Isabella purses her lips and makes a rude noise. “When a man’s conniving, he’s brilliant. When a woman does it, she’s playing dirty.” She rolls her eyes. “Alma Tabris—the hero’s _actual_ name, if you’ll recall—plays a good hand of Wicked Grace. Eyes like a hawk; she can spot a card slip before you’ve even put your fingers on the deck. Quiet too, but her voice carries nicely.”

     His chin is in his hands, elbows on the table—‘like a kitchen boy’, his mother would chide—hanging on every word. “Did you spend much time with her?”

     “Not near as much as I’d like.” Isabella replies with that twist of lips that always means something dirty. “One of the rare few to turn me down, but I can respect that. She was, after all, a little busy with the Blight.” She snorts.

     Sebastian lets slip a little laugh. “Maybe just a bit.”

     “Quick-minded too, the stories skip that bit. Taught her a bit of what I knew about dueling after our card game; she caught on quick. Wonderfully light on her feet, even for an elf. And those pants-flaming companions of hers? Decidedly more temperate than Anders lets on; or they were in the bar.”

     “Did you ever get to see her again? I mean after the battle and all.”

     “Maker _no_ ; I was out of Denerim before the darkspawn tore it apart. Shame though; I would’ve liked to see her at the head of the crowd. It’d be her element.” Isabella tries to signal the barman; as usual he ignores her.

     He shouldn’t buy her the drink, _but_ … “I wish I could’ve met her.” Sebastian says, raising a signal for her.

     “You never know, we might run into her on the Wounded Coast.” Isabella says. “She _is_ a hero and she _does_ have a hero’s knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.”

     Sebastian laughs.


	2. Rana Mahariel, Dalish Hero of Ferelden (underpaid-paragon)

     The fruits are brightly colored but overripe; they’ll be sweet mush before the week is done but the elves will make use of them still. The families who run the small ramshackle stalls are getting used to seeing humans trail behind their new Dalish neighbor—still new, even after five years—and while they remain leery, Sebastian is happy to acknowledge the curt and wary nods with a smile. Merrill is busy weighing the merits of a pair of bruised apples. “I’m never any good at this.” She says, turning them over and over in her hands again. “I once had a dear friend who could always find the best, even if it meant climbing well over our heads to get it. Drove the Keeper mad.”

     He chuckles. “A good friend indeed, to risk life and limb for the sake of an apple.”

     “Rana was the dearest.” Merrill replies, opting to put both in her little basket.

     Sebastian frowns a little. “Is that a common name for the Dalish?” he asks with a light tone; the Hero of Ferelden had been of the Dalish, but that was no reason to assume that everyone knew each other.

     “Not that I know of,” Merrill says quietly as her smile dims, “but I only ever knew the one. The Hero of Ferelden, that’s what they call her now.”

     “I’m sorry, I…” he is not sure how to finish the apology or resume a more cheerful conversation.

     “No, no—it’s good to remember who we’ve lost, the way they really were for us.” She replies. “Would you like to hear about her?”

     “Oh yes.” Sebastian says quietly, hand out to take the tiny basket from Merrill. It is the least he can do, he thinks, for bringing up such a painful topic.

     Merrill hands it over quickly, wandering to the other end of the stall. “Rana had a very wicked sense of humor. Like Varric, but without as much ‘nug shit’. So maybe not as much like him?” She smiles, head tilted.

     “Go on.” Sebastian smiles; it’s hard not to smile with Merrill. He puts a hand on her shoulder lightly to steer her away from the corner edge of the stand.

     Her face is bright, fingers already wiggling. Merrill tells stories with her whole body; face and hands and even feet if it was necessary. Sometimes Sebastian thinks Varric could learn something of the art from her; but then who is he to nitpick storytelling from two wonderfully different people? Merrill takes a deep breath. “I remember one time—we had followed the halla to the Wending Wood and…”

     It is a wild and silly story; imagine the Hero of Ferelden scaring hunters by shaking a few branches and howling! Sebastian’s sides hurt by the time Merrill is done with her telling, and he is not the only one with a face ruddy from laughing; the children in the Alienage had edged closer to hear about one of their almost-own.

     Merrill is proud of her story; that’s as clear on her face as the fading sunlight over the surrounding wall. “Would you like to stay for dinner Sebastian? I have…water. And fruit now.” She adds. “I can tell you more stories about the Hero of Ferelden.”

     “I’m honored by the invitation.” Sebastian replies. “And I would love to hear more stories of your friend; I’m sad to have not known such good company.” He is earnest, if not a little embarrassed about the admission.

     But Merrill is thrilled, taking his arm and pulling him towards her little home with a gaggle of children behind. He would not be the only one to enjoy more stories that night…

 


	3. Surana, Mage Hero of Ferelden (underpaid-paragon)

     Sebastian peels away the wax seal delicately, eager to preserve every feather on the griffon. He was not expecting to see it again; the last letter had bemoaned the Wardens’ necessary detachment. But here it was, in his hands, the familiar flowy script. He smiles, unfolding the parchment with equal care.

> “Dear Sebastian,
> 
> I did not think I would be allowed to write to you again, after the trouble last time. But the Warden-Commander—the _actual_ Hero of Ferelden, thank you!—intervened on my behalf!”

     His breath caught; the _actual_ Hero of Ferelden, the Warden who survived slaying the arch-demon! Coming down from the place of heroes on _such_ a small matter.  

> “I scarcely believe it myself, if I’m to be honest.”

     Sebastian smiles, settling more comfortably on his bed. He missed her gentle soul more than he could admit, but these rare letters were a comfort.

> “Commander Ryker had pulled me out of the line of recruits to ever-so- _kindly_ remind me of my duties and the necessity of detachment,”

     He snorted at the palpability of her sarcasm in script.

> “when she just comes strolling up, smart as you please, and she says ‘oh piss on that—get off the girl’s back Thom, and find someone else to bother’. Can you believe it? The Hero of Ferelden just breaks in and says ‘piss on that’! She’s like Merrill and Varric all rolled together, with maybe a little Fenris for good measure. I like her, genuinely.”

     It sounded like a daft and deadly combination of three very un-like people. But Bethany was a tremendous judge of character.

> “The statues and portraits don’t do her justice. She looks like one of the old Rivaini carvings, all big eyes and high forehead. And she works so very hard; comes all the way down to the practice yards to supervise us with our casting. I’ve never seen a mage cast as fast as she can! I admit, I’m a little envious. Being that fast during a darkspawn press would save so many lives.”

     Sebastian touches the paper lightly, hurting a little more for her absence.

> “I told her about you all, about Kirkwall. She sent a little note with mine, I hope you don’t mind.”

     Startled, he shuffles through the pages. A small card drops out of the pile—‘little note’ indeed! Sebastian picks it up, heart beating faster. It was silly and childish but to think that someone he respected so much and knew not at all had sent something to him—it was amazing!

     The script is messier, sharper than Bethany’s and dotted with a few ink spatters.

> “Bethany says you’re an archer. I like archers; you all are the only ones who’ll stand in the back of the field with us mages. If you ever find yourself at Weisshaupt and the world isn’t falling apart, let’s have a drink together. If the world’s falling apart, we can still have a drink. It’ll just probably be slightly more stressful. Take care of yourself and mind the pointy ends of those arrows! -Surana”

     It was several minutes of awkward squawking before Sebastian could pull himself together enough to find where he’d left off in Bethany’s letter.

> “I’ve no idea what she said, she wouldn’t let me read it. But I made her promise not to write anything _too_ Isabella; did you know they’ve met before? I swear, the world is so much smaller than we ever thought.”

     He would have to remember to ask Isabella about that…provided she could keep at least a few innuendos to herself during the conversation.

> “She’s asked me to go with her on a special assignment. Something secret that she’s not even sharing with the higher-ups. I’m a little nervous because of the secrecy, but I can’t think that she would be doing something untoward. You would like her so well Sebastian—I’d like to think that someday we’ll cross paths again, and Surana (she only has the one name, asks us to use that instead of ‘Warden-Commander’ when we’re not under supervision!) swears we most likely will. The next time I write, I’ll be sure to include some of her stories—they’re certainly colorful! Be safe, be well, and don’t let Marian get you in more trouble. –with love, Bethany”

     Sebastian traces the swell of her name and sighs. “Be safe and well yourself.” He murmurs, folding the letter—and its surprise—carefully and stows them away in the little trinket box Hawke gave him for Feast Day. A whispered prayer of both thanks and protection for his friend, and then Sebastian is ready to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like Sebastian to fawn over your warden, drop me a note on my tumblr (underpaid-paragon) with a few stats on your Warden and who might know them best!


	4. Dira Brosca, Casteless Hero of Ferelden (underpaid-paragon)

     They have settled into a comfortable silence, the Chantry brother and the Warden. Sebastian is burning with questions and praise but is it too soon? Are they still too unfamiliar to each other for that?

     Nate is the one to break the silence. “You know, the Warden-Commander would like this place.” It is an off-hand comment, a musing more for the drink in his hand than the company.

     Sebastian seizes the opportunity. “The Warden-Commander?”

     “Hero of Ferelden, if you’re feeling fancy and she’s not in earshot.” He snorts. “Got no use for a dirt-suckin’ title if it don’t come with cash or the right to slap people around.” Nate says gruffly, wiggling in his seat. He laughs after, raising the glass and toasting the air. “Dira, wherever you’re wandering now, give them hell!”

     Sebastian raises a half-toast to the air, head cocked. “You seem…very fond of the Warden-Commander.” He says cautiously, hoping to hear more but afraid to be taken as overly-familiar.

     “You know, it’s funny that you say that.” Nate replies. “If you had told me years ago, after my father’s…unfortunate ending, that I would count at least one Warden as a dear friend, I’d’ve told you you were off your ass—ah…pardon.” He adds quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No offense.”

     “Oh please, don’t censure yourself for my sake. My ears are not that delicate.” Sebastian smiles and gives a reassuring nod. “How _did_ you become a Warden recruit?”

     “Tried to break into my old home after the Blight. Believe it or not,” it is obvious from the cadence his speech takes that he has told this story before, has had to emphasize this point before, “I wasn’t there to try and take revenge on anyone. I just wanted a few family things, you see.”

     Sebastian nods, understanding that want deeper than he is ready to make known to anyone.

     “Got caught, and they put me in a cell. I’d thought they’d forgotten about me when the darkspawn broke in, but four days later, some twit comes in announcing the Warden-Commander.” Nate pauses to take a drink. “You know, my first thought was ‘I thought she’d be taller’.” He leans back, holding his hand below his chest. “She might, in all seriousness, only come up to about there on a grown man. My next thought was ‘I hate you, and would happily stab you to bloody death’.”

 _That_ was surprising to hear, for all the fondness in the Warden’s voice. “I ah…take it you got over that.” Sebastian replies awkwardly.

     Nate nods. “She’s charming, in her own way. We had a bit of a conversation—she asked me what I was doing, I made it known that if I’d come to kill her, she would’ve been dead—didn’t faze her.” He starts to laugh. “Then she kind of started and goes ‘damn, t’is strange to have a conversation from _this_ side of the bars’! I mean what do you say to that? Anyway, after that she says ‘how about this, you join the Wardens and if you survive, we’ll probably wind up great friends’. Tried to spit at her then, I admit.” He has the good grace to look embarrassed. “You can’t ruffle the Casteless though, not that way at least.”

     “She’s one of the Casteless?” Sebastian asks, surprised. “I…didn’t know.” He is disturbed to have not known that.

     “Yeah, some of the formal portraits are going out without her ah, without her brand,” Nate brushes a finger against Sebastian’s cheek. Obviously the whiskey is settling in nicely. “Gets her raging when she sees it. We’ve got a practice going now that if we see one, we draw it on. The others and I…I wonder if Anders remembers to do that.”

     On the one hand, defacing portraiture? Scandalous! But is it defacing if you’re making a necessary correction? Sebastian isn’t sure. “I’ll have to look, the next time we walk the merchants’ district. I think there’s a portrait of her somewhere around the Guild area.”

     “We’ll have to go take a look to make sure. Don’t want the Warden-Commander disrespected; you don’t wander around a horror-infested swamp with someone without gaining a lot of respect for them.” Nate drains the glass, setting it on the bar upside down. “You’re a good man; kind of you to listen to me ramble.”

     “It’s been my pleasure, really.” Sebastian replies. “I…must admit a deep admiration for the Wardens. For you, for your sacrifice…getting to learn about the woman behind the heroics…it’s a bonus.” He says brightly.

     “Good man!” Nate repeats, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “Now let’s go find this Guild district and check on our Warden-Commander’s face. On the way I’ll tell you about the time head-butted a Hurlock into a sand pit.”

     Sebastian laughs, getting off his stool and reaching out to steady Nate’s wobbly slide from his seat. How much had he had to drink before Sebastian’s rival? There was no guessing. “The Hurlock didn’t stand again, did it?” he asks.

     “No, which was good for us. _Maker_ but I hate the Black Marsh.” Nate swipes a piece of charcoal from the brazier near the door, rubbing it with his thumb. “Good and sooty. Just in case.” He explains to Sebastian’s questioning look.

     He smiles and nods. “Can’t let the Hero of Ferelden be disrespected.”

     Nate claps him on the shoulder again and nods. They set out into the muggy Kirkwall evening shoulder-to-shoulder. It was a bit like going out to right wrongs with Hawke, only with considerably less magic.


End file.
